


The Surprise

by Fenderism



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 19:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11191542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenderism/pseuds/Fenderism
Summary: “Are you sure you want to do this? At least talk to him, let him know-”“I have, Ciri.” He added the satchel containing his elixirs to the saddlebag, keeping his back to Ciri.“I have actually talked, I have used words, whole sentences even. I have asked how much longer, alright? There is no point waiting around for an answer that has already been all but spelled out to me.” He closed the bag with sharp movements, focusing on the task at hand and trying to keep his temper down.





	The Surprise

 

 

“Are you sure you want to do this? At least talk to him, let him know-”

 

“I _have,_ Ciri.” He added the satchel containing his elixirs to the saddlebag, keeping his back to Ciri.

“I have actually talked, I have used words, whole sentences even, I have asked how much longer, alright? There is no point waiting around for an answer that has already been all but spelled out to me.” He closed the bag with sharp movements, focusing on the task at hand and trying to keep his temper down. Ciri did nothing to deserve his ire, after all. When he finally turned around, bags in hand and swords in place, her eyes shone with reluctance, but there was also understanding in them. She knew him well enough to see that trying to hold him back was pointless. Still, she made a last effort.

 

“This is not going to be forever. I know how it looks now, but he _will_ abdicate, soon. This is not like Yennefer, Geralt. He's not-”

 

“Let it go, Ciri.” He stepped towards her and reached up with his free hand, resting it against her cheek. “You know how restless I get stuck with all those nobles.” The way he emphasized the last word gave a clear indication as to what he thought of that group.

“If I have one more Lord trying to cosy up to me to win favour with Emhyr….”

 

“I know,” she sighed, leaning into the hand of the man that she regarded as a father. “I know. I will not inform him of your absence, but I won't lie to him once he finds out. I still think you could solve this by actually talking to each other, but I also know how stubborn the both of you can be.”

She lifted her head and smiled at him. “Go, then. But don't be a stranger, yes?”

 

“You have my word,” Geralt nodded, letting his hand fall from where it had found a rest on her shoulder and stepping past her.

 

Despite the amount of servants employed in the Royal Palace it would be a little while before someone deigned to inform the Emperor of Geralt's absence. They were used to the Witcher coming and going during the day as he pleased, though he seldom bothered to take the saddlebags.

Geralt planned to be well away by the time Emhyr realised that he did not plan to return to the palace and all the political intrigue going on within its walls, not for a while.

Emhyr wanted more time, so Geralt would give it to him.

“All the time he wants, with no pesky Witcher to bother him about his affairs,” Geralt murmured under his breath as he swung himself into the saddle.

“Let's go get out of here Roach.” Maybe he would look in on Dandelion and Priscilla while out on the path. It had been a few months since the last desperate cry for help from his poet friend and Geralt had a hard time believing that Dandelion had actually managed to stay out of trouble for once, Priscilla or no Priscilla.

 

 

There wasn't much work to be found on the way to Novigrad for the most part, so Geralt made a point of staying out of sight and off the main roads. Especially in the area close to the palace the Witcher was well known by the general populace. A side effect of being the Emperor's favourite or whatever they called it these days. It took longer than he expected to get used to the lack of constant company, something that had actually been one of the main reasons to drive him out of the palace in the first place. The novelty of the quiet wore off, but so did the dissonance eventually and Geralt simply kept moving.

He tried not to wonder if Emhyr actually missed him, pushing the stray thoughts of brown eyes and that half smile that so few got to see from his mind with rigorous exercise and practice of his sword forms. This was not the first time, and it would eventually fade just like the last.

It became easier to ignore that constant tug back to what he left behind the closer he came to Novigrad. Even staying away from the main roads and larger settlements there was work to be found so Geralt kept busy.

 

Geralt only stayed long enough in Novigrad proper to help Dandelion out of his latest little problem, which was not at all related to Dandelion first asking after Emhyr and then trying to cheer Geralt up by expounding on all the positive side effects of no longer being the Emperor's _anything_. It became tiring quickly when Dandelion began to apologise after looking at Geralt's expression and just wouldn't stop! Three days of this and Geralt was back in the saddle, early enough to avoid yet another attempt of Dandelion's to make him feel better.

 

The last one had ended with Geralt having to hold onto Priscilla long enough, so Dandelion could explain that it definitely wasn't for _himself_ that he had invited all those charming ladies from the Passiflora, but it had been an attempt to divert Geralt's mind from his broken heart. Geralt _did_ let go of Priscilla at that, unfortunately she had decided to calm down by then though.

It was amusing enough in its own way that Geralt thought of telling Emhyr about the whole thing before he could halt the impulse.

 

That afternoon he came upon a particularly ugly example of that fine 'imported' Nilfgaardian ware that was now all the rage among the nobles. Of course he could tell that it was a cheap copy of the original style, having seen more than his fair share in the palace, but the artist's interpretation of what consisted Nilfgaardian's finest was amusing enough to him that Geralt found himself spending the coin to purchase what amounted to one ugly vase. He ignored the little twinge at not being able to see Emhyr's face when the present would finally reach him. (There was really no point of Geralt dragging a vase around in his saddle bags, was there?) He had added a short letter for Ciri, telling her about Dandelion's latest exploits as well, but did not bother with a letter for Emhyr.

 

Geralt made his way towards Roggeven and from there towards Blaviken, though he avoided the town itself. On the way he spent almost a week on a job that had him more or less running back and forth between two local farmers to lift an old curse that had started several generations back. He finally tracked the cursed object down, a chamber pot, of all things! Geralt managed to lift the curse without destroying the thing and in apparent thanks the farmers decided that the best way to avoid future problems of this kind was to add the now curse free chamber pot to the Witcher's reward.

The thought of telling Emhyr about it, and the incredulous eyebrow raise producing the actual chamber pot would have induced proved entertaining enough that Geralt gave into the temptation of actually sending the item, together with a small note.

He regretted following through on that impulse the very next morning of course, but what was done was done, so he moved on and put it out of his mind. It became a habit to send any curious trinket that fell into his hands on a job to the palace, usually together with letter to Ciri as an excuse to seek out a messenger in the first place. The notes he added to the trinkets for Emhyr never grew longer than one or two sentences, referencing how the item had been acquired.

 

The area between Hengfors and Aedd Gynvael along the Brad River provided plenty of distraction in the form of drowners and a particular nasty Gryffin that had come down from the mountain pass in search of prey, though the simplicity of the work also meant no more trinkets to be sent.

It was just as well, considering how difficult it was to find someone reliable to carry those little parcels the closer Geralt came to the mountains. It didn’t keep him from pocketing the nicest of the Griffin feathers away from the others that were intended for elixir and potions ingredients.

Geralt still woke with the scent of paper and sandalwood in his nose, almost reaching for someone who wasn't there, before fully waking. By now he knew that he would return to the palace before a year was gone, accepted it as a fact, yet he still stubbornly headed towards Kaer Morhen to pass the winter there.

It had nothing to do with the voice in his mind whispering whether he really thought Emhyr would just let him walk back into the palace as if he had never left. Nothing at all.

 

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

Geralt knew that he wasn't the first to arrive at Kaer Morhen before crossing over the drawbridge.

The Witcher had expected to spend the winter alone at the old stronghold, truth be told, now that Lambert had thrown his lot in with Keira Metz and Eskel was still somewhere out near Aldersberg last he'd heard of him.

 

He did not recognise the dappled mare in the stable, but she looked well cared for and of good stock. Roach was only interested in the hay rack after their long day's ride and ignored the stranger in the stable completely. “I wonder who had the good fortune of winning you in a game of cards,” Geralt spoke out loud as he put away Roach's tack. “No way Eskel or Lambert would actually pay what you're worth.”

She flicked her ear at him but otherwise did not respond, not that he had expected it.

Taking his saddle bags, he made his way up to the main hall, curious to see who he would be spending this winter with.

 

Geralt passed by the whetstone in the yard and noted the lack of weaponry near it. Not Eskel then.

“Did Lambert fall out with Keira after all? Can't see her agreeing to overwinter here now she's got that that cosy place in the south.” Even though Lambert and Geralt did not see eye to eye on many things, he wouldn't exactly mind the company of the other Witcher. Lambert could be fun and a good distraction from the quiet monotony of winter. Lambert freshly dumped by someone he actually cared for though? Not much else would have convinced the other to make Kaer Morhen his winter retreat.

 

Geralt's steps slowed as he neared the large doors of the main hall and felt his amulet vibrate. “Huh, that's new.” He felt the protective wards buzzing along his skin before he so much as touched the old wood. The magic _felt_ familiar… had Lambert managed to drag Keira all the way over to Kaer Morhen after all? _Why_ though?

Geralt pushed the heavy oak and made his way inside, now thoroughly puzzled by the whole thing. Whichever way he looked at it, it just didn't add up. But who else would go through the effort of making their way here and lighting the fire in the hall, even put up defensive measures that were clearly geared to at least admit Geralt.

 

The answer sat in a tall high back chair, gazing into the fire as if he had not heard the Witcher approach, and it was not even close to any of the possibilities Geralt had prepared himself for.

“ _Emhyr?”_ Geralt stood rooted to the spot, the saddle bags sliding from his grip to hit the floor with a dull thumping sound.

“What… is Ciri-”

 

“Ciri is fine,” Emhyr was quick to assure, and _gods_ did it feel good to hear his voice after all these months! Geralt had been fairly successful in keeping himself distracted while on the path, and yet it appeared all that had done for him was to store up all those things he had been trying to ignore, and to dump them on him all at once now, when faced with his lover's astute gaze.

 

“Come, sit,” Emhyr bade him, indicating the chair facing his own at an angle with his right hand.

Geralt saved them both the back and forth of pretending to take the natural tone of authority in Emhyr's voice as an attempt to command him instead of the invitation it was meant to be and moved to the chair, letting himself sink into it.

The cushioning was just firm enough to be supportive yet comfortable, and Geralt couldn't decide whether to be annoyed at the presumptuousness that had led Emhyr to turn up at Kaer Morhen with _furnishings_ for crying out loud, or to simply be grateful that he had at least brought two chairs instead of just one.

 

He could feel those brown eyes on him, cataloguing his every move to calculate the possibility and nature of needed countermeasures, trying (and likely succeeding) to discern Geralt's mood.

 

The fire was warm and he could smell the roast that was waiting, covered somewhere further back on a table, likely with another bottle of the wine Emhyr was currently drinking. All in all, Geralt felt himself to be in rather a forgiving mood.

 

“There is no crisis that requires your immediate response, if you were still wondering,” Emhyr continued, his gaze finding Geralt's and holding it. “I have come here for… personal reasons.”

 

“I admit, I did wonder, but I guess there would be easier ways of getting my attention if you needed me for reasons of state,” he shrugged. He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles, and gave Emhyr's ankle a little nudge. It should not be this easy to fall back into their old habits, especially given the unusual setting. Emhyr var Emreis, the Emperor of Nilfgaard, sitting in Kaer Morhen's crumbling old hall with his Witcher lover. This was an unusual amount of effort, even for Emhyr. Or rather, especially for Emhyr. It was paying off, too. The corner of his mouth curled up a little as he watched Emhyr trying to gauge his mood before proceeding. His bones ached though, and the scent of food was about to set his stomach growling.

“The Emperor of Nilfgaard, here in Kaer Morhen, without so much as a personal servant, never mind a guard. Just how did you manage to convince your advisers of the necessity for that, I wonder? Don't tell me you just up and left.”

 

“Of course not,” Emhyr agreed pleasantly. “Naturally I signed the relevant paperwork first before I removed myself and my personal affects. “

 

“Paperwork?”

 

“For my abdication. It was pointed out to me that I had delayed the process beyond what was strictly necessary and that it would be to my own advantage to rectify that before the ensuing damages became permanent,” Emhyr clarified, gesturing with his goblet in a round about way.

“I admit I also found the council and palace somewhat… lacking, in recent months.”

Geralt's eyes did not leave Emhyr's face as he watched the other man drink, likely to stop the flow of words that was exposing him and what he considered his weakness more with every syllable.

 

“You know I was going to come back, right? This wasn't me actually _leaving_.” Surely Emhyr had to know that, even if it had taken Geralt a while to realise it himself.

The look of amused disbelief on the former Emperor's face told a different story. Looking back at his history of relationships and how _well_ he had handled commitment before, Geralt couldn't actually fault his lover for that.

“Fuck,” he sighed, rubbing his hand over his face in exasperation. “I've made a right mess of it again, haven't I?”

 

Emhyr smiled to himself as he turned his eyes to the wine in his goblet, watching the light dance over the dark red liquid.

“To be fair,” he murmured, “there are those that would say that I have given plenty of help to you in that regard.”

 

“I just,” Geralt sighed and dropped his hand, really looking at Emhyr now, at this proud man that came all the way out to a crumbly old Witcher hovel on the _chance_ his lover might not spurn him, even after months with hardly a word.

Of course Geralt had send letters, thinking those and the occasional curiosity as a souvenir would be enough to show he hadn't actually left the man, only the location, but what had it looked like from Emhyr's side? Yet still Emhyr was here now, and he had actually handed the throne to Ciri.

“I've missed you. I think a week or two here and I would have even started missing the court,” he confessed.

 

Emhyr looked up from his wine, one eyebrow raised. _Really?_

And what could Geralt do to answer that but slide out of his chair and onto his knees, his exhaustion ignored as he moved towards the other man, spreading those fine clad legs with his hands to insert himself and lean up, offering as much as asking.

 

 

[ ](https://ibb.co/gCBAsk)

 

Emhyr's lips tasted of wine, dark and rich against Geralt's own. They made him hunger. His hand moved up of its own accord, calloused fingers tangling in the dark hair without thought, just the need to keep Emhyr close, to taste more, to feel him _here_. Feel him yield.

Geralt pushed further, moved up and onto Emhyr's lap, pushing him back into the seat just so he could chase for another taste of his mouth.

 

But Emhyr did not surrender for long. The goblet clattered on the stone floor, dregs of wine spilling unheeded as Geralt found himself entangled in strong arms, entrapped by his prey and enjoying every moment of it.

Emhyr's hand wound itself into Geralt's hair, directing the Witcher's movements just so as the kiss turned hungry, teeth tugging on his lower lip strong enough to add a hint of pain into the mix.

Both of them were breathing heavy by the time Emhyr relaxed the hold he had on Geralt's hair and leaned back to look at him once more.

 

They regarded each other up close, looking for the little changes that spoke of the time spend apart, both of them eager to relearn the other. Geralt was just wondering whether or not the little lines around Emhyr's eyes had truly deepened or if it was due to the low light from the fireplace and tiredness when he saw Emhyr scrunch up his nose in a way that definitely wasn't adorable and made him smile.

 

“You reek of horse, sweat, and road dirt.”

 

“I'm afraid a day in the saddle will have that effect on anyone, your highness,” Geralt teased, but he did lift himself from his position and began removing his armour and boots as he talked.

“So how come you've made it all the way out here without Mererid? Or is he hiding somewhere in the guest rooms?” Geralt had thought the Chamberlain to be rather dedicated to Emhyr himself, not just in his position as Emperor of Nilfgaard.

“Did you order him to stay behind or did you actually sneak out on him?” Emhyr's mouth curved up a little.

 

“I admit that convincing Mererid that his services were of better use to Cirilla, at least for the time it will take her to settle into her position as Empress, was more difficult than even I had anticipated.”

 

“Did he actually refuse your direct order?” Geralt would have paid to see Emhyr's face if that had been the case.

 

“Of course not,” Emhyr huffed at the sheer audacity of that idea. “That kind of insolence is still yours alone. But he did come close enough in his _requests_ for my reconsideration he might as well have,” he admitted.

 

“And you were actually surprised at that I suppose?” The raised eyebrow Geralt got for that was answer enough in itself.

“There are those that see you for more than the position you hold, you know.”

 

“Hmm. I suppose that is the case.” Still, he sounded doubtful about it. Like the mere idea of anyone having regard for him beyond what he could do for them, _to_ them, was not feasible. Never mind that he was sitting here in Kaer Morhen, no longer bearing the sun seal and golden chain of office, watching Geralt strip in front of him.

He prepared to speak once more but whatever quantifier he might have thought to attach seemed to get lost as Geralt finally got out of those leather breeches and undergarments in one swift move, leaving him bare to Emhyr's gaze, cock standing hard and flushed against the marked skin.

Geralt did not hide anything from his lover's gaze, letting Emhyr see the evidence of his desire without shame.

 

“Guess that means I will have to sort my own bath then. Need me to shave as well?”

Emhyr regarded the short beard covering the Witcher's face, giving him a rugged but not quite unkempt look. The hunger he saw in the brown eyes made Geralt's cock twitch, which did not escape Emhyr's notice.

 

“The beard can stay, for now,” he proclaimed.

 

 

~*~

 

 

By the time Geralt had scrubbed off a day's worth of sweat and road dust, Emhyr had moved himself to the large dining table which held a spread of food not only worthy of a Witcher's appetite but also of an Emperor's refined tastes.

 

_Former Emperor,_ Geralt reminded himself, and wouldn't that thought take some getting used to? Even when he had been the one to occasionally nag Emhyr to abdicate already at the palace, first in Vizima and then in Nilfgaard, he had never quite believed it would actually happen.

Not only because Emhyr enjoyed being in control way too much to give it up that easily, he was actually good at being in charge. He thrived under pressure, welcomed the challenge of anyone trying to outsmart him. He also derived an admittedly vindictive pleasure from putting his challengers and their would be followers back into their place (though he also had enough control to keep that part well hidden). And he did not trust anyone to be as capable and circumspect in this as he himself was, not even Ciri or Movran. It had been just as obvious to Geralt as it had been frustrating, no matter how well the Witcher was able to empathise with the reluctance to stray from the known path and to turn your back onto the one thing you felt destined to do. It was ultimately why Geralt had left. He couldn't watch it any longer and still pretend it would, at some point, change.

 

But now Geralt took his seat at the table, barefoot and in fresh but simple clothing, about to break his fast with the _former_ Emperor. It made his insides feel like he'd just taken a dive off a cliff and was still falling, which made him want to shake his head at himself. What next? Fall on his knees and proclaim eternal devotion like a little boy at the taste of his first love?

 

“That is quite the spread. Don't tell me you've actually cooked any of this,” Geralt remarked.

 

“Perish the thought. Though I have many talents, cooking is really not one of them. I had the meal prepared, of course.”

 

“Of course,” Geralt agreed. “And where are those cooks and servants now, I wonder?” He reached for the platter holding a large roasted goose and helped himself to a sizeable amount of it, waiting to hear how Emhyr had made do in Kaer Morhen while waiting for him.

 

“They are stationed in a camp behind the fortress, about an hour’s ride from here.”

 

The way Emhyr didn't quite hide his sneer at the word 'fortress' had Geralt's lips twitch in amusement. The man had never been the most expressive, but he had begun to make little concessions in private, small things that made Geralt feel like he was privy to a side of him no one else got to see, except maybe for Ciri.

“And Mererid?”

 

“Still at the palace, I have not deceived you in that regard,” Emhyr retorted.

 

“Bet you'll get a polite earful once he's done there though. I just can't decide whether it will be from Mererid or Ciri.”

 

“Ciri, I should think, though knowing her, her version is bound to be rather less polite in wording.”

 

Geralt did not even try to hide the look of pride on his face at Emhyr's proclamation.

 

“Yes, yes, it is quite obvious who had a hand in her upbringing. Now stop gloating, it is unbecoming,” Emhyr sighed. “Mererid will be exceedingly polite when he does speak to me again, but otherwise give me the silent treatment. He has this way of conveying his disapproval through mere presence. It is rather entertaining to watch when not aimed at oneself.”

 

“Come now, how often do I actually get the chance to gloat when it comes to you?” Geralt laughed in return. Emhyr had to concede that it was a seldom won and rather dubious honour. (Most people didn't manage to gloat for long, after all.)

 

“I am sitting at your table, am I not?” the other challenged.

 

“That you are,” Geralt readily agreed. “Though I still don't understand why you saw the need to leave your servants behind in a tent? Kaer Morhen might not be in the best state of repair, but it should house a few servants with ease.” Having the servants actually in the kitchens would also have had the benefit of having hot water available for a bath, Geralt thought. Boiling the water as required and filling the wooden tub on his own though? Not really worth the effort. So yeah, Geralt wouldn't exactly protest to having a few of Emhyr's servants here.

 

“I did not wish to presume,” Emhyr replied. “This _is_ your home, and I am your guest, an uninvited one at that. Acting like I had the right to your home seemed... ill advised.”

 

The implications of that simple admission rendered Geralt speechless for a moment.

It was a lot to take in, even after the months spend together. He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the obstruction there that kept him from speaking.

“Presume away,” he replied at last, reaching for some more bread as if he hadn't just told Emhyr that he had the right to _everything_ , as far as Geralt was concerned.

 

Emhyr did smile at that, a rare look of contentment gracing his face as he moved the wine to Geralt's side, so he might help himself to some more, before adding a helping of the beef roast to his own plate.

 

“In that case it won't bother you to hear that I had the bed in the guest room replaced with something more suitable.”

 

“I guess that means we will both sleep comfortably tonight?”

 

“We will, eventually,” Emhyr agreed in that deep tone of voice that was almost a purr.

It reminded certain parts of Geralt's anatomy of exactly where they had interrupted their celebration before the meal, as he felt himself harden in his breeches.

 

“When will your servants be back for their daily routine?” he questioned, clearing his plate efficiently while watching Emhyr.

 

“Around noon tomorrow.”

 

“I take it someone informed you of my arrival today?” There must have been a lookout stationed in one of the villages along the way if Emhyr had had the time to plan for his arrival and make elaborate preparations like this, with enough time to spare for the servants to leave Kaer Morhen and be well out of his hearing range before Geralt arrived. Even with the time spent ridding himself of the signs of travel, most of the food had still been warm. Though a few of the dishes definitely sported some enchantments to prolong that part.

 

“Indeed,” Emhyr agreed and left it at that. His plate was empty now and his full attention on Geralt. It sent a pleasant shiver along Geralt's skin and he pushed his plate away, having sated one hunger for now.

 

“So do you want to test that new bed now, or would you like to take advantage of having the place to ourselves tonight and fuck me senseless over there by the fire?” Geralt asked, nodding towards the large bear skin rug in front of it that was covering the space between the two chairs. The goblet was still lying next to it, glinting in the firelight.

He turned back to Emhyr, holding his gaze as he watched the hunger there growing, dark pupils widening in reply.

 

“For tonight, by the fire will suffice,” Emhyr finally decided, rising swiftly now to move towards it with intent, working open the closures of his tunic on the way.

 

“Fuck yes,” Geralt growled, not far behind.

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

 

 

The fire had been reduced to a pitiful collection of small glowing embers in a field of ash by the time Geralt woke, yet he still felt warm, comfortable even. It took his mind a moment to catch up with that and the sensation of living heat along his back under the throw being real, and not just the last vestiges of another dream memory.

Emhyr. Emhyr was here, in Kaer Morhen, with him. He had chosen, and, what was more, he had chosen Geralt.

 

The Witcher turned around carefully, not wishing to wake the other man prematurely. Emhyr's dark hair was a tousled mess. He lay on his front, head turned towards Geralt and face cushioned on his own hand. His usually smoothly shaven cheeks were covered by a dark shadow and where his face touched the back of his hand, there was a spot of dried drool. It made Geralt smile and felt his face starting to ache from the unnatural expression. He wasn't used to smiling. Not for this long, or this often within just the span of a few hours.

The former Emperor of Nilfgaard lay naked, apart from a throw, on the floor of Kaer Morhen because of _him_. It was hard to deny the rush of power that came with that realisation, a tingling feeling that spread through his veins and chased away the last remnants of sleep as Geralt felt himself growing hard again. Emhyr was _his_ , willingly.

 

He reached out with his hand, for once not even trying to keep the possessiveness out of his touch as the palm of his hand followed the curve of Emhyr's spine, exposing the pale skin to the cold morning air. He could hear the change of rhythm in Emhyr's breath, felt the moment of tension in the muscles under his fingertips as the other woke, the loosening of the same tension as memory returned and made sense of the touch.

Geralt watched his fingers strip the covers from the firm roundness of Emhyr's backside, falling to a temporary rest on the back of his thighs. There was no sound of protest as Geralt flexed his fingers, grabbing and holding the mound of flesh hard enough to bruise, fingers pressing deep.

 

He looked up, yellow eyes meeting dark amber, and found no protest even there. Geralt relaxed his grip and smoothed over the abused skin, holding Emhyr's gaze as the other watched him complaisantly.

He let himself explore further, stroking down, down between strong legs, catching the short trimmed, wiry curls between his fingertips. He used them to tug lightly at the skin behind the sack, all the while holding Emhyr's gaze. His reward was an almost imperceptible lift at the corner of the mouth and the first hints of musky arousal, but nothing else.

Geralt quit the teasing lightness of his tugs in favour of touching, pressing his fingertips into the secret skin and rubbing firmly over the taint to observe his lover's gaze slowly lose focus.

 

Emhyr’s pupils dilated, the black spreading as Geralt watched. He leaned in, holding Emhyr's gaze as he started mouthing along the skin of his arm, fingers moving in circles and going higher to explore the dark valley of Emhyr's arse.

Geralt was rewarded with a slight hitch of breath and the spreading of legs, offering more room for his explorations.

He earned the first moan when he bit into the flesh of Emhyr's shoulder while his fingers rubbed firmly over the man's hole. Geralt's own cock was rutting up against Emhyr, pressing against the firmness of his leg.

 

Emhyr finally looked away from the Witcher's gaze, eyes flicking up to the nearest window, ostensibly to judge whether or not there would be enough time to see this through before the servants were to arrive at the fortress.

It earned him a second bite to the shoulder, not sharp enough to draw blood but close to it, and the breach of his entrance by a dry fingertip. It worked to refocus his attention where it ought to be: on Geralt.

He groaned under the sharp sensations, the rough possessiveness with which the Witcher handled him, and let himself go pliant once more.

 

Geralt shifted, moving Emhyr's legs apart further by inserting himself between them and spreading his knees, holding the weight of his body on his free arm as he bit his way down his lover's skin. He kept following the path his hand had taken previously. He could _taste_ Emhyr's arousal in the air by now, feel it in the little shivers beneath him as the other did his best not to press back into Geralt.

 

Emhyr knew and understood this for what it was; Geralt asserting his ownership, claiming him completely. It was nothing less than he had taken for himself the previous night and he did not resist. It was also more than he ever thought himself willing to give and yet it felt so easy to let himself be moved.

Geralt sat up between his legs to reach for the vial of oil, opening Emhyr up for himself with quick but thorough twists of his fingers, before pulling him up onto his knees.

 

The first push took away Emhyr's breath, Geralt's hard cock filling him to the hilt in one swift move that was nearly as painful as it was glorious. There was no time to recover as Geralt set about fucking him, his movements slow but strong, deep thrusts that were aimed with precision and that gave Emhyr a hard time holding his position. His pride demanded that he would at least hear Geralt moan before he unlocked his own elbows to give in to the inevitable.

 

Geralt's focus was as much on Emhyr as the other's was on him, the need to possess him overtaking his senses and writing itself into the bruises painted onto strong hips, resounding loudly in the slaps of skin on skin. It was evident in the strong scent of salt and musk his nose picked up as the first drops of fresh seed dripped from his lover's cock.

 

“What the _FUCK_?!”

 

Geralt had pressed Emhyr to the ground and covered him with his own naked form before the familiarity of the voice registered with him.

 

Standing just inside the hall, close enough to be able to see but well out of reach was none other than Lambert. His expression was a mix of surprise and outrage in equal measures, which Geralt didn't quite know how to interpret.

They stared each other in the eyes, frozen in place until the moment was broken by an exasperated huff from underneath Geralt.

Without a word Lambert turned on his heel and left the hall again, slamming the heavy oak door behind himself.

 

Now that his senses weren't exclusively focused on Emhyr, Geralt was able to hear Lambert talking outside, which meant the other Witcher hadn't arrived alone. It also meant he better go and find out what was going on before Emhyr's entourage arrived to take up their work for the day, pissing Lambert off further in the process.

 

Whatever contingency plans he might have had came to an abrupt halt though, as he tried to rise. Emhyr's hand gripped his arm, holding him in place.

 

“I need to see why- _oh fuck_...” It was difficult to focus on Lambert when Emhyr clenched his arse like that, the slick heat of it gripping Geralt's cock and holding it so very _tight_.

 

“I'm sure your friend can wait a little longer,” Emhyr told him. “I, on the other hand...” he clenched down again and pushed back against Geralt, encouraging the rolling of hips that had started back up almost instantly, “...have waited long enough.”

 

There wasn't much Geralt could say to that, was there? So instead he lowered his head to Emhyr's shoulder, kissing it apologetically before nipping the skin and biting his way up to the junction of shoulder and neck, where he sank his teeth in hard as he picked up the pace.

He held onto Emhyr's neck with his teeth as he fucked him, one hand pushing its way underneath them to seek out his lover's cock. There was no mistaking the noises Geralt coaxed out of him for anything but an expression of intense carnal pleasure.

 

Emhyr shouted out his release not long after that, dragging Geralt over the edge with him.

The Witcher could taste faint traces of blood on his teeth when he finally let go. A quick look at the other’s skin showed that the bruising would indeed be quite spectacular.

“Sorry about that,” he apologised, even though he did not mean it at all and Emhyr knew it.

 

“Do you you think I would have allowed for it if I were opposed to the idea?” he challenged, his breath still quick and his voice tinged with the roughness of being well fucked. Geralt loved the sound of it, had missed it more than he wished to admit.

 

They pulled themselves apart eventually, making quick work of cleaning up and redressing.

“Will there be a problem?” Emhyr inquired, looking towards the still closed doors.

 

“Nah,” Geralt shrugged. “Don't know why Lambert's even here to be honest. Probably just being his usual obnoxious self.”

 

“ _I heard that!”_ came the call from outside.

 

“See? Obnoxious,” Geralt gifted Emhyr with a smile before he headed out to see what exactly had caused Lambert to move his obnoxious arse all the way to Kaer Morhen instead of spending the winter somewhere more to his liking. He had his suspicions, but who knew, wouldn't be the first time he discovered some surprising revelations after an extended absence.

 

Lambert had moved further away from the entrance by the time Geralt walked out.

Next to him stood Keira Metz, which answered at least part of Geralt's questions and made his suspicions even more likely.

 

“Hello Keira, nice to see you again.”

 

“Geralt, a pleasure as always,” the sorceress returned.

 

“How have you been?”

 

“Oh quite well, thank you for asking. And yourself?”

 

“Well there have been a few ups and downs I suppose, but overall quite well.”

 

“Are you fucking serious?!” Lambert finally threw in, apparently done with their little game.

Keira rolled her eyes at Geralt behind Lambert's back but let him have his way.

 

“Well I _was_ until you decided to storm in,” Geralt retorted pleasantly.

 

“I am aware, no need to remind me. I _saw_ it!”

 

“Well maybe then you shouldn't have walked in in the first place? If seeing us fuck disturbed your sensibilities that much!” Geralt snapped, quickly losing his patience now.

“I know why I failed to hear your arrival, being rather occupied at the time. I do have some trouble figuring out how _you_ failed to realise what was happening before you interrupted, however.”

Geralt wasn't particularly proud of having been caught unawares like this, but at least he had a reason for it. Lambert, however, had walked into the fortress well able to hear that he would be interrupting a rather intimate moment. It wasn't like they had been keeping quiet.

So having Lambert complaining about a visual he could have easily avoided by simply waiting outside, or maybe _knocking_ to draw attention to his presence, was not helping.

Neither was Lambert's temper.

Before the two Witchers could have another go at each other, Keira decided to intervene.

 

“I did try to warn you, you know? But you couldn't be up the path quickly enough. I did try to tell you that there were new wards on the place. Which you should have realised by yourself either way, with your medallion and all,” she shrugged.

 

“I thought he was back to fucking Yennefer!” Which was... _what?_

 

“What in the world gave you that idea?” Keira asked, the astonishment in her voice reassuring Geralt that he was not the only one baffled by that presumption.

 

“Oh come on! He's _always_ gone back to her in the end!”

 

“And you've always complained about that!” Geralt threw in. “And now suddenly you're complaining that I didn’t? How is that supposed to make any sense?”

Lambert rubbed his temples with the fingers of his right hand, then dropped it with a sigh before looking back to Geralt.

 

“It doesn't, alright? It just fucking surprised me, that's all,” he admitted. “Threw me a bit.”

Lambert shrugged and leaned his back against the wall. He crossed his arms before he continued:

“Ciri and Dandelion both have been in contact, you know? Worried silly about your stupid arse while you were off pouting somewhere. Then they dragged Yennefer and Triss into it, both of whom naturally refused to go after you and hold your hand for obvious reasons.”

 

Geralt rolled his eyes at that but nodded because it did make sense, even though he thought it was a bit of an overreaction on Ciri's and Dandelion's part to even ask them in the first place.

 

“So that left Keira and myself, conveniently residing together, to be talked into chasing after you to make sure all your pouting wouldn't get too distracting and kill you along the way, or something to that effect,” Lambert went on, gesturing with his hand.

“How was I to know that it wasn't Yennefer who had decided to take advantage of the presented weakness and currently vocalising her success, but the Emperor of the fucking North and South?!” Lambert`s voice got progressively louder as he spoke, but Geralt was not taking the bait and refused to engage in one of their usual loud arguments.

 

“Maybe you _do_ have a problem with your hearing after all, ‘cause the difference in tone there was pretty distinct, I'd say,” he teased. “And it's former Emperor.”

 

“Oh sod off! At least _I_ heard something! And what do you mean _former_?”

 

“Didn't Ciri tell you, you two being all chummy again now? Emhyr abdicated.”

 

“He _what_? But that doesn't make any sense! If she knew that then why...” Geralt watched the realisation dawn slowly on Lambert's face. “Oh that little witch! She fucking _knew_ all along!”

 

“Indeed,” Geralt agreed with a sigh as Keira laughed, having figured it out before either of them and now thoroughly enjoying the show.

“She probably timed it so this was the most likely outcome. Her version of _I told you so_ looks to be as pleasant as her father's,” he grumbled.

 

Lambert couldn't help but ask “Which one's?” of course, which earned him one of the less favourable looks from Geralt. Keira was still laughing.

 

Giving the whole thing up for a lost cause, Geralt left his dignity where it lay and turned back towards the hall. On the upside, he was looking forward to seeing Emhyr's reaction when Geralt told him about how Ciri had decided to get her revenge for both her parental figures leaving her to rule the North and South, and with Mererid on her heels about the proper etiquette while doing so.

 

“Might as well come in. No point in loitering outside and giving the servants something to gossip when they turn up!” he said, not bothering to turn his head or raise his voice as he knew Lambert would hear him just fine.

 

“ _Servants?!”_

**Author's Note:**

> After several years of writers' block, finally some content again!
> 
> A special thank you to Ketlingr for beta reading, all remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Further thanks to Astolat and goddamnhella for tempting me onto this ship. 
> 
> The beautiful art for this fic was commissioned with the talented mimmu. You can find her and more of her stunning work at [mimmu.net](https://www.mimmu.net)
> 
> I am happy for you to share the art as long as you credit the artist, and of course I would also appreciate a link back to this fic but it's not necessary. :)


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